Abuse of Discretion

by Pamela Samuels Young

  I’m almost at the end of the driveway when I notice a young girl sitting on the steps of a house across the street. I wave. The girl waves back.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, after crossing the street.

  “Taisha.”

  “Why aren’t you in school today?”

  “I had a bad asthma attack this morning. But I’m better now. What were you doing in Kennedy’s backyard?”

  I wish the girl hadn’t seen that. Something tells me she won’t buy my spiel about new construction, so I act like a politician and pretend I didn’t hear the question. “Do you know Kennedy Carlyle?”

  “Yep.”

  “Since Kennedy lives right across the street, she must be a good friend of yours?”

  The girl puckers her lips with attitude. “We used to be best friends, but not no more. Now LaShay is her only friend. But I don’t care. Kennedy’s being homeschooled now. I bet she’s too embarrassed to go back to school since everybody’s talking about that naked picture of her.”

  “So you go to Marcus Prep?”

  “No. You have to be rich to go there.”

  “Then how do you know about the picture?”

  “Because everybody was talking about it in my Sunday school class.”

  “Where do you go to Sunday school?”

  “Greater Mount Calvary.”

  “Did you see the picture?”

  “Nope. I didn’t wanna see it. You sure ask a lot of questions. You must be a private investigator working for Graylin. He goes to my church too.”

  I nod. This little girl is sharp.

  “Do you know anybody who saw the picture?”

  “Yeah, lots of people. It was all over Instagram. But it’s gone now.”

  I don’t buy her claim that she didn’t want to see it. Since she knows that it’s no longer on Instagram, that means she must’ve at least searched for it.

  “Does anybody at your Sunday school know who took it?”

  “Nope.” She pauses. “But I do.”

  My heart skips three beats. “So who took it?”

  “Crayvon.” She points up the street. “He lives in that yellow house with the red car in the driveway.”

  “How do you know Crayvon took it?”

  “Because I saw them sneaking into Kennedy’s backyard like you did a minute ago.”

  “Them who?”

  “Graylin and Crayvon.”

  “If both of them went back there, how do you know Crayvon was the one who took it?”

  “I just do.”

  “Do you remember which day it was?”

  “I think it was Wednesday. Graylin got arrested on Friday.”

  “Did you tell anybody?”

  “Nope. I didn’t want to get them in trouble. Nobody likes Kennedy. She acts like that’s her real hair, but it’s not. It’s just a three-hundred-dollar weave that looks like real hair.”

  Kennedy’s weave is not something I want to know about. “What time of day was it?”

  “Hmmm,” Taisha puts a finger to her chin. “Around five o’clock maybe. It wasn’t dark yet.”

  “Do you know how long they were back there?”

  “About five minutes. They both ran out laughing.”

  I can’t believe I stumbled upon this witness. I’m so stunned my mind goes blank.

  “I hope you have some more questions for me. Otherwise, you’re not that good of an investigator.”

  I laugh. “Well, help me out. What other questions should I be asking you?”

  Taisha smiles deviously. “You should ask me if I saw anybody else go back into Kennedy’s backyard that same day after Crayvon and Graylin came out.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yep?”

  “Who?”

  “Crayvon. And this time, Graylin wasn’t with him. I bet you anything Crayvon took that picture and is trying to pin it on Graylin. Graylin’s nice. He always says hi to me. Crayvon’s the one who would do something like that. Not Graylin.”

  “Tai, who are you talking to out there?” A woman opens the screen door and steps onto the porch.

  “Hi, my name is Mei.” I’m worried that this woman won’t like the idea of a stranger talking to her daughter. “I’m an investigator hired by Graylin Alexander’s attorneys. He’s the boy—”

  “I know who he is. His family goes to my church. It’s a shame what they’re doing to that child.”

  “I didn’t get your name,” I say.

  “Betty. Betty Taylor. And I guess you’ve met my daughter Taisha. She’s quite a little talker.”

  “Yes, she is. She gave me some information that could be very important to Graylin’s defense.”

  “Oh, did she?” Betty says with raised eyebrows.

  “Tai, why don’t you go inside and wash your hands? We’ll be eating in a minute.”

  Betty waits until Taisha is inside and motions me back down the walkway. I assume to make sure Taisha doesn’t overhear us.

  “I don’t know what Taisha told you, but whatever she said, I’d take it with a grain of salt. She’s my foster daughter. A very troubled kid. Half of what comes out of her mouth is pure fantasy. I’ve had dozens of foster children over the years, but I’ve never had one who lies as much as this one.”

  I’m not sure what to say. “She told me she saw Crayvon sneaking into Kennedy’s backyard a couple of days before Graylin was arrested.” I decide not to mention the part about Graylin going in with him earlier. “Did she tell you that?”

  “No, and I wouldn’t put any stock in it. She lies the way you and I breathe. She can’t help it. I think it’s a cry for attention.”

  “Taisha said she and Kennedy use to be best friends. Is that true?”

  “Yes. You know how teenagers are. Friends one day, enemies the next. Taisha took it pretty hard when Kennedy stopped inviting her over. Once she became friends with that other girl—I can’t think of her name.”

  “LaShay?”

  “Yes, LaShay. She all but stopped speaking to Taisha.”

  If Taisha told the truth about that, why can’t she also be telling the truth about Crayvon? I’ve interviewed tons of people. Liars often display red flags, like not making eye contact, excessive blinking or shifting their eyes to the left or right. I picked up no such flags from Taisha.

  “I think I’d sense it if Taisha wasn’t telling me the truth,” I say, unwilling to disregard the goldmine of information she’d given me.

  “Oh, no you wouldn’t.” Betty rests a hand on her hip and smiles. “When it comes to telling lies, Taisha is very, very good at it.”

  CHAPTER 55

  The Shepherd

  I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since Oaktown’s arrival at The Low. I have nightmares about someone breaking into my cell and shanking me. I woke up this morning dripping with sweat, patting my body for stab wounds.

  Now Oaktown is going around telling everybody I’m a chomo and that I trafficked Blaze’s daughter. I used to be someone respected around here. Now other inmates despise me.

  All of my efforts to find someone willing to take on Oaktown came up empty. I’ve finally admitted to myself that I only have one option. If I want to stay alive, I have to go to the hole. But I refuse to go there as a snitch.

  I leave Willie a message letting him know that he won’t be able to contact me for a while. I hide my phone in a ceiling vent in the Education Department and prepare myself for what I have to do.

  Fortunately, I understand the culture of criminals. Most are small-minded bullies underneath the bravado. They’re like an undefeated boxer who’s never taken a real punch. Once somebody lands one, he falls like raindrops. I convince myself that’s how it will be with Oaktown.

  All week I’ve been hibernating in my room, avoiding Oaktown. But today, I h
ead to the chow hall with my head held high. I’m sitting down with my food when he walks over.

  “Ain’t no money on my books this week?” he says. “Where’s my money at?”

  I take a long time to respond. “Can’t you see I’m eating?”

  He chuckles. So do the handful of inmates sitting around me.

  Oaktown grins and looks around. “Did you hear what this chomo just said to me?”

  “Who you calling a chomo?”

  Before he can react, from my seated position I head-butt him in the groin. He doubles over and falls to the floor. That’s when I hop up and start stomping on his head.

  In seconds, three C.O.s converge on us. One of them pulls me away and cuffs me.

  “You’re going to the hole!” he yells at me.

  I continue to resist as the C.O. drags me away while Oaktown lies curled up on the ground, wincing in pain.

  The inmates are all staring at me. I see respect in their eyes and that pleases me. I could have done something less dramatic to get put in the hole, like failing to show up for a count or going off on a C.O., but I had to restore my rep.

  And now I’ve done just that.

  CHAPTER 56

  Angela

  Jenny and I are taking a pizza break in her office. We’ve been bouncing around ideas about Graylin’s defense for the past three hours. Earlier in the day, Jenny got a call from a friend who passed on some information he thought she should know. Kennedy’s parents are using their political connections to get the book thrown at Graylin.

  I’m not naïve, but the news stuns me. That’s not how the justice system is supposed to work. Graylin is a good kid. He’s not a sexual predator and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he’s not branded as one. There’s no way I can tell Gus what the Carlyles have done because he’d likely try to confront them again.

  The only good news we’ve had lately is that our new prosecutor, Lorelei Sullivan, is a straight shooter.

  “I haven’t been up against her before,” I tell Jenny, “but I checked around and she has a good rep. No oversized ego and she’s not into dirty tricks or hiding evidence. If something happens mid-case that says the defendant didn’t do it, she’ll readily dismiss the case.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  Jenny looks over at me as if there’s something she wants to say.

  I wait her out.

  “So when are we going to deal with the elephant in the room?” Jenny asks.

  “And what elephant would that be?”

  “The break-in at your office. By the way you pulled Dre out of there, I assume it had some connection to him.”

  I remain silent.

  “Look,” she pushes, “we’ll be spending a lot of time together trying this case. If somebody has a beef with you or Dre, I could end up in the line of fire. I need to know what’s going on.”

  She’s right, of course. “How much do you know about why I left the U.S. Attorney’s Office?”

  “A little.”

  “Yeah, right. The situation with my ex was all over the news. I’m sure you Googled me just like I did you.”

  “Okay, okay,” Jenny admits. “I know a lot. You were engaged to some judge who was abusive. Then you hooked up with Dre. When it came out that he was a drug dealer, you resigned from your job.”

  “So you do know a lot. Except my boyfriend is an ex-drug dealer.”

  “So is Dre’s past connected to the break-in?”

  “Kind of. What wasn’t reported in the media, at least not linking me or Dre to the case, was the conviction of a pimp named Rodney Merriweather. Everybody called him The Shepherd. He kidnapped Dre’s niece Brianna. Dre testified against him in court and he got locked up for trafficking children. Now it appears that from behind prison walls, he’s put a contract out on Dre. The trashing of my office was really a message for Dre.”

  “Oh, wow.” Jenny leans back in her chair. “This sounds like something right out of Power.

  I laugh. “You watch that?”

  “Yep. I love it.”

  “Me too.”

  Neither one of us says anything for a couple of minutes.

  “So what’s Dre going to do?”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t want to know. We’re not on speaking terms right now, even though we’re kinda living together.”

  “How are you kinda living together?”

  “Dre’s been sleeping at my place. He’s concerned that The Shepherd’s goons may come after me.”

  “But why aren’t you speaking to him? It doesn’t sound like he caused any of this.”

  “He wasn’t honest with me. And this isn’t the first time that’s happened.”

  “Men always think they can handle things themselves. For you to date him knowing his past, he must be a special guy.”

  I shrug. “So now that you know I could be taken out at any moment, are you still okay trying this case with me?”

  “It’ll take more than a potential hit from a prison inmate to keep me from clearing Graylin’s name. But from now on, if we’re working any late nights, let’s do it at my office.”

  We both laugh as Jenny’s cell phone chimes, signaling a text. Her face lights up as she reads the screen.

  “You win the lottery?”

  “Perhaps.” She starts typing on her phone. “Mei wants to know if it’s okay to drop by.”

  “This late? Please tell me it’s good news. I can’t handle any more bad news.”

  “The best news ever,” Jenny beams. “Mei thinks she knows who took that picture of Kennedy.”

  CHAPTER 57

  The Shepherd

  After a week in the hole, I’m beginning to feel like my old self again. My meditation and yoga practice have made my situation bearable. Being beyond the clutches of Oaktown has brought me nothing but peace.

  I was even able to find a replacement for C.O. Sims. Barker Phillips is a disgruntled correctional officer with twenty-plus years on the job who feels he should’ve been promoted over his white colleagues years ago. Slipping me some decent food and getting me access to a cell phone is his way of sticking it to the system while making some extra cash on the side.

  I finally have a chance to call Willie.

  “I’ve been waiting for your call,” he says anxiously. “That project went very well.”

  That brings a smile to my face.

  “And, um, well…that Apache dude dropped by again. He left another message for you.” I hear him take a deep breath. “But I didn’t understand what he was talking about. He said, Enjoy the blaze. What does that mean?”

  An intense urge to slam my fist against the wall rattles through me. But I cannot let Willie detect that I have lost control of my emotions. I feign a laugh. This all makes sense now. My guys would never knowingly snatch Blaze’s daughter. Dre Thomas planted that lie.

  I’m about to give Willie an order when I hear footsteps.

  It’s C.O. Phillips. His shift’s about to end and he needs to retrieve the phone before his replacement comes on duty. I hand it over and sit there, contemplating how to address the news from Willie.

  Later that night, just as I’ve fallen asleep. I hear my cell door open. Two inmates are standing in the doorway, just behind a correctional officer I don’t recognize.

  “We’re here to deliver a message from Oaktown,” says one of the men, who’s half the size of the other one. “He needs his money.”

  I’m still groggy and the words don’t compute.

  The C.O. lets the men inside and closes the door.

  The big man grabs me from the bed and hurls me headfirst against the wall. “You better not scream!” he yells as I crumple to the floor.

  I’m in so much pain I can barely breathe, much less find the strength to scream. He lifts me back up b
y the throat and slams me into the wall again. My entire face puffs up like a volleyball. I can no longer see out of my right eye.

  “I have money! Please don’t hurt me. I can pay you.” My voice sounds garbled and blood spurts from my mouth.

  The big man lets me fall to the ground again, but the other one pulls me right back up to my feet.

  “We don’t like chomos,” says the smaller man, who seems to possess super-human strength. He has me pinned to the wall with a single hand.

  I try to break free, but the more I struggle, the harder he smashes my face against the cold cement wall.

  “No! Please don’t hurt me!” I scream out of the side of my mouth. “Why are you doing this?”

  “We deliverin’ a message from Oaktown,” one of them says. I don’t know which one because I can’t see out of either eye now. “He wants you to know that you can run, but you can’t hide, even in the hole.”

  I feel a fist to my stomach and a pain more intense than anything I’ve ever felt shoots a raging fire through my body. They start tossing me around like a rag doll, alternately, punching me and slamming me into the wall.

  All I can do is pray that I pass out.

  CHAPTER 58

  Angela

  Graylin’s preliminary hearing starts in fifty-two minutes. Jenny, Graylin and I march into the Criminal Courts Building in downtown Los Angeles like soldiers heading off to war. In a way, we are.

  If things don’t go our way at the hearing and the case proceeds to trial, all isn’t lost thanks to Mei. The information she got from Taisha about Crayvon going into Kennedy’s backyard alone lifted our spirits. All we need to raise reasonable doubt is the possibility that someone other than Graylin took that picture of Kennedy. Of course, the information about Graylin also being in Kennedy’s backyard does concern us. We haven’t discussed it with him yet for fear of distracting him. We need Graylin one hundred percent focused on the prelim.

  “You ready to testify,” Jenny asks as we all clear the metal detectors.